Defining
by RayWritesThings
Summary: Oliver and Laurel have an interesting method of studying. Pre-series


**Hello, readers. I've decided to start cross-posting some of my fics from AO3 and tumblr over to FFN, so if you recognize this story most likely you've read it on either of my accounts there (Ray_Writes and raywritesthings, respectively). This one is a bit of pre-series fluff partially inspired by a panel from the GA/BC comics. If you haven't read it before, I hope you enjoy!**

**-RayWritesThings**

**Defining**

"Oliver!" He winced as Raisa reentered the kitchen. Apparently he wasn't as sneaky as he thought. "Those are for dessert."

"Sorry, Raisa," he said with his most angelic smile. "Your cookies are just too good."

As he'd hoped, she gave an indulgent shake of the head. "Just two then, or you'll spoil your appetites."

"We'll be hungry," he promised, snagging the treats off the cooling rack and dodging around the older woman.

Oliver barely made it out of the kitchen before another voice was hailing him. "I hope you're working those appetites up studying, son." How did his dad always _do_ that? He turned to see his father coming down the corridor towards him.

"We are, really. Laurel's helping me with, uh, SAT vocab," Oliver stated.

"Uh-huh," was his father's dubious reply. But all he did was simply give Oliver's shoulder a light squeeze. "Best not to keep her waiting, then."

Oliver grinned. "Okay, dad." He made his way to the main staircase and took the steps two at a time, jogging down the hall to his room. Oliver slipped inside, announcing, "I hope you're grateful because I very nearly didn't make it back alive."

Laurel looked up from where she sat cross-legged on his bed, surveying their collection of words. "Yes, thank you!" She eagerly took the cookie he held out to her. "Mm, still warm."

"Only the best for Dinah Laurel Lance," he said, though the words came out far more genuine than he'd intended. Oliver got to work on his cookie in order to avoid spilling anything more obvious, trying not to imagine how Tommy would be pretending to gag were he not currently grounded by his dad.

Fortunately Laurel didn't comment. "Raisa makes the best food, seriously. Oh, but don't tell my dad I said that."

"I still can't believe your dad knows his way around a kitchen. I guess somebody in your family has to," he added teasingly.

She reached across to push at his shoulder, though he could tell her lips were pressed together to stop a smile. "How about we get back to business. I think it was my turn."

"Aw, you waited for me?" Oliver gave a precursory glance to the Scrabble board that lay between them and the tiles both on it and in his rack. "You haven't been looking at my letters while I was gone, have you?"

Laurel rolled her eyes. "Like I need to." She was already laying down her tiles, and he craned his neck trying to read it upside-down.

He quirked an eyebrow. "Blith?"

"_Blithe_," she corrected, finishing off with an 'e' tile. Their eyes met for a moment as they both hovered slightly over the board.

"I see," he said, though he really didn't. Oliver sat back a little and Laurel mirrored him.

"So, those letters total up to eleven points altogether, but since I placed the 'h' on a double letter score that bumps it up to fifteen, and because it's an SAT word that doubles my score to thirty points this round," she concluded, jotting down the number on the scorecard at her side. Laurel looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "That puts me fifty points ahead, Ollie."

"Has anyone told you you're too competitive for your own good?" He grumbled, though unable to keep a straight face as she laughed at him.

"Well how about this," she offered once her amusement had subsided. Laurel leaned slightly over the board towards him again. Oliver swallowed and resisted the urge to lick suddenly dry lips. "If you can use my word in a sentence, I will give you…ten bonus points."

He was reading the words off her lips, but it took him a second longer to process what it was she'd actually said. "Ah. Right. Okay." He thought for a moment, then smirked. "Laurel asked me to use the word blithe in a sentence. There, that's ten bonus points to me."

"That does not count!"

"You never said I had to define it!" He pointed out. "Come on, give me the scorecard." Oliver snagged it before she could get any ideas about holding onto it, laughing as she crossed her arms. "I'm still behind by forty. And you're supposed to be teaching me. You use it in a sentence."

"Fine," she huffed. Laurel pushed some of her hair behind an ear before deciding on, "Dad never stops complaining about Sara's blithe attitude to my mom."

"So, it's something like wild or…reckless? Being a teenager?" He guessed.

She grinned. "Basically. I think the definition is carefree or free-spirited. So there, now you've earned your ten points."

"How gracious of you," he chuckled. "Let's see if I can earn some more." He tore his eyes away from her and glanced again over his tiles. There was no hope of him actually forming an SAT word with them; Oliver hadn't even bothered to look at the lists they'd been given until tonight for their not-study-date.

But as his eyes caught on a few of the letters, he had an idea of something different he could achieve besides studying.

"Cute?" Laurel read as he placed the tiles down.

"Yeah. Six more points, and since I put it on the red that makes it twice that, right?"

"It does," she agreed, scrutinizing him closely.

He kept his cool, writing down his new score before looking back up. "Your turn."

They went back and forth another few rounds, Laurel growing increasingly perplexed by him. Not because he was pulling ahead, in fact he was falling even more rapidly behind. He learned that largess was another word for generosity, hoary meant old or worn-out, and to vivify something caused it to be enlivened or animated. Laurel, of course, already knew what words like smart, kind, and pretty meant, but he was hopeful she might be learning something too.

When it was next his turn and he laid down his tiles, however, she finally called him out. "Ollie, if you're not going to try and take this seriously—"

"I am," he insisted.

"Then why are you using these words?" She pointed out his latest one. "Date? I don't understand."

"Okay, then I'll use it in a sentence," he volunteered. Oliver took a deep breath, then finally forced the words out. "Would you go on a date with me?"

Laurel stared at him. "That was a question," she finally managed, just above a whisper.

"I know."

"Ollie…"

"Look, before you answer, I don't mean as a fling or a onetime thing," he hastened to say. "We've known each other since we were kids, Laurel, you mean so much more to me than that."

"You mean a lot to me, too, Ollie," she confessed softly. "But is this really something you want?"

"I want it with you. I want movie marathons with ice cream and dinner at each other's houses or a million restaurants and helping Tommy throw parties at his house until his dad catches us again and study dates with Scrabble where I pick up just enough to scrape by in class—everything we already do, just…together." He reached out and re-tucked her hair behind her ear; it was always falling loose. He loved that about her. "Don't tell me you don't want that too."

Laurel's lips parted slightly. Then she was leaning into his hand, into him, and he met her halfway. The first brush of their mouths was tentative, like a last vain attempt to hold themselves back. Oliver tilted his head and felt the bed shift as Laurel pushed up onto her knees, and then _finally_ he was kissing the girl he'd dreamed of kissing for so long.

There was nothing to compare it to; he'd suddenly forgotten what any other kiss had felt like. He could think of nothing else but this slow dance of lips, and then tongue as he couldn't help himself. Oliver's only thoughts were of _closer_ and _more_, which as best he could tell matched up with Laurel perfectly.

"Ollie," she gasped out, and he lost the breath he'd just broken off to take. She was pulling him back in with hands in his hair, and then it really didn't seem to matter. Nothing else mattered.

His bedroom door banged open without any warning.

"Ollie! Dinner's ready—" His little sister cut off with a gasp as he and Laurel jolted apart, the Scrabble board sliding off the bed and onto the floor with a sprinkle of tiles. Oliver's eyes darted from Thea stood in the doorway gaping at them to Laurel sat back on her heels with a rapidly deepening blush and red, red lips.

"Thea," he started, voice slightly gruff, but the girl darted away before he could even think about how that sentence was going to end. There was silence but for the fading pitter-patter of her feet, and he risked another look at Laurel. She met it with a wide-eyed stare, then opened her mouth.

"_Mo-om_!" It was Thea's voice again, coming from what sounded like the end of the hall. "Guess what I saw—"

"Speedy!" He was up in a flash, tearing off down the hallway after his imp of a little sister. Laurel's laughter followed after him like a song.

And despite his certainty that Thea was trying to _ruin his life_, his heart swelled.


End file.
